


The Ingenious Dr. Rodney McKay of Atlantis

by propinquitine



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bureaucracy, First Kiss, M/M, McShep Match Challenge 2009, Now What?, brief discussions of DADT, the Wraith have been defeated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-25
Updated: 2009-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitine/pseuds/propinquitine
Summary: Who would have thought that defeating the Wraith was the least of Rodney's worries?
Relationships: Amelia Banks/Ronon Dex, Evan Lorne/David Parrish (implied), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rodney McKay/John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan/Kanaan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	The Ingenious Dr. Rodney McKay of Atlantis

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to gaffsie, fish_echo, and M. for the last-minute-yet-thorough betas! Thanks also to M. for the multiple conversations about _Don Quixote_ and metaphorical windmills. Finally, the title is lifted directly from the original _El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha_.

"All right, let's get this over with as quickly as possible," Rodney said, opening the file on his desk. "Dr. Damon Ricks," he read, "xenobiologist. Been with the expedition for a little over a year." Rodney looked up. "You stayed on through the war?"

"I didn't have much choice," Ricks sniffed. "Several months after I arrived, I was evacuated to New Athos, along with other 'non-essential' personnel, while you flew the city to Earth."

Rodney waved his hand. "We brought it back."

"After two months!"

"Believe me, that was as fast as we could. It's not like we wanted to be there." Rodney flipped open another file. "Which brings me to the point of this interview: Are you staying?"

Ricks frowned. "What? What do you mean?"

"Are you staying in Atlantis? Now that the war's over, the IOA has us 'reassessing mission priorities', which includes mandatory personnel interviews by every department head – and yes, they are mandatory, I checked. Multiple times." Woolsey was back on Earth, wrangling bureaucrats and stoking the in-fighting between Coolidge and Shen, so the top-level staff was stuck dealing with newly-minted-IOA-rep Brant Cramer themselves.

"You're evaluating us?" Ricks asked.

Rodney shook his head. "No, no, this isn't a performance review. Just an inventory – who's staying, who's going, what projects they're working on. I assume you'll be staying?"

"Well . . . " Ricks trailed off.

Rodney blinked. "How are you even hesitating? What reason could you possibly have for not continuing your work here? I'm sure those two months on New Athos set back your research on," Rodney flipped through Ricks' file, "semi-sentient moss."

"Yes, as did the intervening months of war," Ricks said dryly. "Dr. McKay, this may hard for you to understand, but I don't always feel safe here. The Pegasus galaxy is a dangerous place. In the past few weeks alone, several scientists have had close calls while working with Ancient technology, and you yourself were injured off-world!" Ricks motioned toward the fresh scar that was peeking out from under Rodney's sleeve.

"It's just a flesh wound," Rodney muttered, "and besides, those booby traps had been in place for a thousand years. It wasn't like someone was actively attacking us."

"But that happens, too! Every single one of the off-world teams have come under fire at some point."

"Yes, but most of that was Wraith-related. We're the safest we've ever been, now! The war's over, we've got alliances with practically everyone, and, fine, those will probably start to weaken without a common enemy, and I'm sure the Ancients have left us all kinds of deadly Easter eggs to stumble over." Rodney looked at Ricks, whose eyes were wide. "Oh, it's not _that_ dangerous! The life-sucking bug-people are gone! Or hibernating somewhere, maybe. But for the foreseeable future, the mortal peril meter is as close to zero as it's going to get." Rodney shook his head. "We're finally going to have a chance to focus on research and exploration, the way we set out to."

"And what about the rumors regarding a change in management?" Ricks asked. "I'm sure your job is guaranteed, but is anyone else's? I suppose I've grown accustomed to the leadership that kept so many of us alive through the war."

"Mr. Woolsey is on Earth right now making sure that he keeps his job." Rodney didn't doubt that Woolsey would succeed – the man could be devious when necessary – but Shen and Coolidge had been itching to take over command of Atlantis for years. Woolsey would have his work cut out for him.

"And the military contingent? Are you certain the IOA will view a military presence as necessary to our peaceful mission of scientific discovery?"

"They wouldn't – not even the IOA is _that_ stupid. Of course we need the military here."  
  
"Because the Pegasus galaxy is so safe."

Rodney stood up. "Look, Ricks, stay or go, it's your choice, just let me know by the end of the week. I've got another interminable meeting to get to."

\---

Rodney met up with the rest of his team in the hallway outside the gateroom. They were just loitering, clearly waiting until the last minute to go into the conference room. Rodney leaned against the wall, nudging Ronon in a futile attempt to get him to give up some of his prime wall space.

"How're the interviews going?" John asked. He looked tired, and Rodney knew he'd been working on updating mission reports late into the night. They'd all agreed to go along with the IOA's various mundane tasks (for now, at any rate), just to get the overseers out of the city as soon as possible.

Cramer's requests seemed finely calibrated to be as annoying as possible: John was stuck going over old mission reports and "filling in details", while Ronon had been asked to write minute deconstructions of the various battles that had taken place during the eight-month period they were referring to as "the war". Teyla was drawing up analyses of each of their alliances, covering the history of each group in the Pegasus galaxy pre- and post-contact with the expedition, and making predictions of the "future value and benefit" of these relationships. Rodney, of course, was being forced to talk to all of his underlings. It wasn't that these were impossible tasks, obviously, but they were so goddamned _tedious_ that Rodney couldn't help but feel they were all being punished.

"Ugh," he answered, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull _thunk_. "People appear to be under the mistaken assumption that I actually care what they think." He sighed. "They were supposed to be purely a formality, but no, instead I get to hear Whiny McSoftscience complain that he doesn't feel _safe_ here."

"To be fair, Rodney, even with the threat of the Wraith eliminated, there are still significant dangers to the type of work the scientists do," Teyla pointed out. She still sounded kind of amazed when she talked about the Wraith being gone, which Rodney supposed made sense: he was thinking of it as a 6-year horror show that was finally, blessedly over, but for Teyla, it was a complete change in the nature of the world she lived in. "You must try to remember what it was like to be afraid, here."

"Oh, trust me, I've become very familiar with my fear-response since coming here."

"Nah," John said, shaking his head. He was sort of staring at Rodney, detached. Rodney had caught him doing that several times, since the fighting stopped, just spending a long time looking at him, or Ronon, or Teyla and Torren, with a hazy sort of smile on his face. He'd been worried that John had decided to proceed directly to his dotage, but John had brushed of his concerned inquiries with a "Just thinking." "You were never afraid, not like some of these guys are. You've gotta remember, most of them aren't from the first wave."

"So they knew what they were getting into! The occupational hazards shouldn't be a surprise to them." Rodney argued. "Even if they foolishly didn't believe the mission reports, they all had access to them."

"Right. And we had no idea, Rodney. None. We were pretty sure there was breathable air around the gate, but that was it. It takes a certain kind of fearlessness to do something like that."

"You mean a certain kind of crazy," Rodney sniffed, but John just smirked at him. "I'm fairly certain I was this close to doing something unmentionable in my pants when we first stepped through the gate here."

"You mean like that time you wet yourself?" Ronon asked, elbowing Rodney in the side.

Rodney turned to splutter at him. "That was because of the _dhossa_ , and you know it!"

"Sure, McKay."

"No one told me it was a diuretic!" Damned Bhurati and their deceptively delicious ritual stimulants.

"They told you it was highly caffeinated," John chimed in. "That's basically the same thing." He clapped Rodney on the shoulder and started toward the conference room. "C'mon, Betsy Wetsy, let's get this meeting over with."

In the conference room, Cramer was already sitting at the head of the table, hands clasped on top of another mountain of file folders. Why he insisted on doing everything paper and not making use of the paperless system that Elizabeth had developed in their first year, Rodney didn't know. But if the jackass turned around in a week and told them to type up all of their notes, Rodney would – well, Rodney would probably do it, unless they'd decided to change their strategy from cooperation to antagonism. But he sure as hell would complain about it, out of Cramer's hearing.

"Please, everyone, take a seat," Cramer said, gesturing around the table. Cramer ("Call me Brant," he'd said when he first introduced himself, which – no, just no) had been congenial from the start, smiling with his too-white teeth and doing that awkward two-handed handshake/clasp thing that Rodney hated so much. Rodney preferred his IOA officials to be blatantly conniving, or obvious in their bureaucratic disapproval (the way Woolsey had been, back in the day), rather than this "Hey there, buddy, how's it going, by the way, we're looking to make a substantial reassessment of the mission objectives" routine that Cramer was pulling. Like they were actually going to fall for it.

"I'm glad you all could make it, I know you have a lot on your plates right now," Cramer said, making eye contact with each of them and smiling, always smiling. "I just wanted to give you a heads up on the latest message from the home office. First off, I'd like to say that everyone back home is just pleased as punch about the amount of work you've been able to get through in just a few days."

John shot Rodney a glance, eyebrow raised. Rodney shook his head minutely; he didn't know what that was supposed to imply, either. They'd have to parse that phrase later.

"Second," Cramer continued, "it's been decided that Colonel Sheppard should start his staff interviews, as well." He nodded at John, as though this subject had ever come up before.

"You mean, like McKay's been doing? Who wants to stay, who wants to go?" John asked.

Cramer nodded and said, "Partially, partially. Of course final assignments of specific military personnel are up to the SGC, pending IOA assessment of Atlantis's staffing needs, but we do like to get an idea of who's particularly happy to be here." Did he just _wink_? God, this guy was creepy. "We'd also like to get a sense of what other talents the members of the military have. Ideally, everyone posted in Atlantis would have a secondary skill set that they could put to use during their downtime."

"Downtime?" John asked. He was sitting very still, and Rodney could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Well, we won't be needing quite the constant vigilance of the past few years, now that you've all handled the Wraith issue." Across the table, Teyla curled her hand into a fist, and Rodney could see the muscles in Ronon's neck flex as he gritted his teeth. For all his Guy Smiley routine, Cramer was shit at reading a room.

Cramer went on, "We'd just love to see some of the members of the military get involved in those great science projects your department's working on," he said, nodding invitingly at Rodney. Rodney smiled weakly back. He _really_ wished they were implementing the antagonism plan. "Or maybe work on their diplomatic skills, so they can be even greater assets on all the missions you guys will have time for now."

Cramer looked around the table, his perma-smile fading a bit when he was met with stony silence, until John eventually grunted out, "Fine. Consider it done."

"Excellent!" And the smile was back. "And just one more thing: We'd also like to increase the international presence in the mission, so keep that in mind if you come across any staff openings. We're always looking to make this mission more inclusive," he said, positively beaming at Teyla and Ronon.

"Are we done here?" Ronon asked, pushing his chair back.

"Sure are, big fella! I don't want to take another minute of your valuable time," Cramer said, as Ronon strode from the room. John wasn't far behind him, though Teyla took the time to give Cramer a frosty nod before leaving.

Rodney gave Cramer a half-hearted wave and dodged another handshake before catching up to Teyla in the hall. She was seething.

"While I am sure that someone such as Mr. Cramer does not fully comprehend the meaning of war, I do not appreciate how flippantly he speaks of our battles against the Wraith," Teyla gritted out.

Rodney didn't know what to say – Cramer was an ass, that was obvious, and they were all still grieving for those they'd lost – so he just rested his hand on Teyla's shoulder. "Yeah."

They rounded the corner, where John was waiting and Ronon was pacing. "I can't stand that guy," Ronon said. "He's slimy."

John nodded. "He's hard to get a read on, that's for sure."

"Clearly, his statements cannot be taken at face value," Teyla said. "I do not think much good will come of what he said today."

Rodney agreed. "So, what, first they'll weed out the Marines who don't have advanced degrees, then use all the 'downtime' assignments to demonstrate that we don't need a significant military presence at all?" he asked.

"And if you don't need a significant military presence, you don't need –" John broke off and looked away.

"Now, come on, that can't possibly – they're not going to take you _away_ ," Rodney said. The IOA couldn't, couldn't do that to – couldn't be that stupid, could they?

John shrugged. "You heard the man, Rodney. They're looking to expand the international presence, and they're looking for job openings. Easiest way to find one is to create it."

Rodney's watch beeped. "Crap, I've got another interview. Talk to him, would you?" he asked Teyla and Ronon. "And you," he said to John, "Just, just sit tight. We'll figure something out."

\---

Rodney's three-o'clock was waiting in his office when he arrived. "Dr. Khan? I thought Dr. Sierra would be doing your interview."

Khan shook her head, pushing a cluster of black curls behind her ear. "No, if it's all right with you, Dr. McKay, Dr. Sierra was hoping you could interview the medical staff that focus on more theoretical work. Didn't you get her email?"

"Probably," Rodney said, nodding toward his darkened computer screen. "But I'm sure I didn't read it. Let me guess, Sierra's buried under a Cramer paperwork edict?"

Khan nodded. "He has her compiling all of the research that was done on Wraith physiology."

"All of it?" Rodney asked. "You mean, all of Carson's research, the Hoffan drug, Michael's database, Jennifer's gene therapy – that 'all of it'?"

"And Dr. Sierra's own work on the pheromone compound, yes," Khan said. "He's asking for analysis of each step in the research process, as well as a one-page Executive Summary."

Rodney shook his head. "That devious bastard." Sierra had been with them since the city's return from Earth and had proved to be quite competent, but six years' worth of data and reports from a good half-dozen researchers would be hell to synthesize. No wonder she hadn't been at the meeting. "Well, this shouldn't take long. You're staying, right?"

"Well," Khan said, tucking her hair behind her ear again. "About that."

"Oh, no, not you too," Rodney groaned, collapsing in his chair. "C'mon, Florence, you can't possibly tell me you're afraid to work here. You've been here for years. I've seen you sew people up while Wraith darts explode overhead, and you've always kept a steady hand." Rodney paused, considering. "Your theoretical work's not bad, either."

Khan blinked. "I'm not afraid. And, um, thank you? That's kind of my point, actually. I've been doing a lot of work on cell structure and repair, and I've made some really interesting discoveries from studying the regenerative abilities of Wraith cells. We've already put it to use here, but it's exactly the kind of thing that would spur advancements in Earth-based medical science."

"I'm sure it would. What's your point?"

"I want to be able to publish my work." Khan fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "The medical team back at the Mountain has had a lot of success with that, recently. Dr. Keller – "

"Just published a scrubbed version of some of her research on gene therapies, I know. She sent me a pre-publication draft to review. And I'll tell you what I told her: that's very nice, but in the time it takes you to pare your research down to the point that it'll pass the SGC's censorship squad, you could've made actual progress on something new. A lesser scientist can do that job, and believe me, they have those to spare."

Jennifer had had a thing or two to say to him about tact, after getting his comments, but she still respected his opinion. They hadn't been on Earth long before they realized that they worked much better as friends than anything else – the clincher being the day a new scientist had wandered into the labs, heard them bickering, and asked Jennifer if she was the famed sister of Dr. McKay. Jennifer had laughed while Rodney blanched, confronted with a brief, horrifying mental image of making out with Jeannie. They'd talked about it later that day and agreed that, yes, they were much more suited to a quasi-sibling relationship than a romantic one. 

Khan cleared her throat. "Well, to be perfectly frank, Dr. McKay, this wasn't how I envisioned my career going."

"What, you start out with some really promising ideas, get snapped up by the US military, and then disappear under a veil of government secrecy? Everyone in your field starts doubting your intelligence, even whether you exist?" Rodney sighed. "I know the story, Khan, and no, of course none of us imagined this when we were in grad school. PhD programs aren't exactly designed to train you for this kind of work. But you _are_ making significant contributions to science,and you know it."

Khan leaned forward in her chair. "But without the type of work that Dr. Keller and her team are doing, no one but SGC personnel will ever benefit from our discoveries."

"Yes, and that's regrettable." Khan glared at him. "Fine, fine, it's unconscionable, we shouldn't allow the American military to keep censoring the free flow of information, it's antithetical to the scientific process – I know all the arguments, Khan , and for the most part I agree. My point is that anyone at the Mountain can do that work. But not everyone can cut it out here. You know that."

Khan frowned, but she didn't disagree. "Dr. McKay, it isn't that I don't appreciate the opportunities, and the need, here, and I do love the city, but I can't sit by and not _do_ something about –"

"Okay, fine," Rodney interrupted. "You stay on, keep working on making actual discoveries, and you can set aside ten percent of your working hours to prepare things for publication."

Khan narrowed her eyes. "Twenty percent."

Rodney snorted. He wasn't a negotiator, by anyone's definition; why did all of these interviews seem to end with him bargaining with his people? "I was only going to suggest five percent, so split the difference at twelve-and-a-half."

"Deal." Khan grinned. "And I'm sure you'll take care of talking to Dr. Sierra about this?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll send her an email." Rodney looked her in the eye. "So you'll stop it with all of this 'maybe I'll leave' nonsense?"

"It really is important –"

"Yes, yes, to all of humanity, but not to me, specifically, so I don't want to hear about it any more." Rodney waved his hand. "Get out of here, Khan, you're not even in my department."

"You've got it, sir."

\---

Six more interviews down, and Rodney decided it was time for a snack break. Dinnertime had come and gone somewhere between Baako's drawn-out explanation of why he couldn't return to Earth (apparently, years of back-taxes were more worrisome than anything Pegasus could offer up), and Simpson's hurt, "What do you think?" when he tried to bring up the subject with her. (Rodney was pretty sure that meant she was staying. And that he should bring her back a muffin so she stopped looking betrayed.)

He swung by John's office on the way to the mess – sure, it was six levels up and three corridors out of his way, but with transporters it really wasn't much of a detour. Besides, he was fairly certain that John could use a break.

They'd always had a habit of taking care of each other (well, saving each other's lives, at first, but surely that had to count), and over the past year, it had only intensified. Going out on mission after mission trying to pull together alliances, outfitting the Travelers' ships with more advanced weaponry while keeping the tech (and themselves) just out of Larrin's grasp, figuring out how to deploy whatever the med team cooked up – through it all, John made sure Rodney took breaks to eat real food, while Rodney made sure John actually got some sleep. (This was usually via the clever ploy of "C'mon, just watch _one_ episode of _Doctor Who_ with me", and then settling in for some communal napping when John fell asleep before the opening credits were over). Rodney wasn't about to stop now, peace or no peace.

Especially not when John looked as wrung-out as he did now. "You look like shit," Rodney said, by way of greeting.

"Love you too, McKay," John muttered while he scrawled another sentence on his report.

Rodney mostly ignored the warm flush that crept through him at that and leaned over to look at John's paperwork. "P46-982? The one with the goat-things?"

John nodded. "And the ritual headgear, yeah," he added, drawing the last word out into a yawn.

"That was two years ago! And you already wrote a mission report about that, we all did. What could possibly be Cramer's goal in having you rehash it?"

"To fuck me over?" John tossed his pen down and rolled his neck. Rodney could hear it crackle from across the desk, and had to resist the urge to circle around and start rubbing it for him. (He wasn't even thinking of asking for one in return, mostly.) "He said the goal was something like, 'To capture every morsel of information I've gleaned over my tenure here, for the betterment of the mission's efficiency,' or some crap. That's why I'm doing these, and the assessments of our current defensive position, and the amended reports on our alliances, and now the in-depth staff performance reviews."

"I thought Teyla was working on the alliance reports," Rodney said, taking a seat.

"Yeah, but I'm supposed to go over the original reports and add in any 'personal details' I can remember about our allies," John said, making half-hearted finger quotes. "I don't know how the fact that Tin-shio's daughter was the youngest ever _ragbah_ player in Hellak history didn't make it into my report the first time around."

Rodney snorted. Considering that Tin-shio's boasting had taken up a good quarter of their negotiations, that was kind of an oversight. "So what do you think? Busywork, keeping you occupied so you won't cause a fuss about troops getting sent home?"

"Rodney," John said, meeting his eyes. John really did look terrible, with dark circles under his eyes, the lines on his face more pronounced. The IOA had barely given them time to register their victory, much less celebrate or figure out what the hell they were going to do next, before swooping in and burying them under reams of paper. Rodney would bet John hadn't had a good night's sleep the entire time. "They're going to replace me, Rodney."

"No," he said. It was a reflexive answer, his automatic response to anyone who tried to broach the subject, but if John was bringing it up, he'd actually have to talk about it. Damn. "I don't know where you're getting that idea."

John raised his eyebrow. "Yeah, they're just having me transfer every scrap of information I have about this place to hard copy for shits and giggles. And all the mentions of job openings and reassessing personnel needs is small talk." John leaned back and closed his eyes. "Face it, Rodney, they're getting ready to give me the axe."

"No!" Rodney said again, forcefully enough that John opened his eyes. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it?" John asked, voice dull. "I've been at war for most of my career."

"Except for that time you spent doing _milk runs_ in Antarctica," Rodney scoffed, "And then you sat in a shiny chair and it lit up for you and opened up a whole new world, Disney show tune full stop." That got a smirk out of John, so Rodney continued. "Look, I know we haven't had a chance to figure out exactly what we're doing now, what our lives will be like, but John – _we have time_. We can take the time, and you're not going anywhere. I won't let you, and I'm pretty sure no one else will, either." Rodney was feeling giddy, almost, buoyant. "It's still sinking in for me, but, we can do _anything_." He grinned at John.

John had that faraway look in his eyes again, smiling back at Rodney but not really looking at him. "Almost anything," he said. Then he seemed to snap out of it, standing up and moving to the door. "Food?"

"God, yes," Rodney said, pushing himself up from his chair. "Remind me to bring something back for Simpson. And Radek, too. He was being tetchy earlier, I think it was low blood sugar," Rodney said as they headed to the transporter.

"Nah," John said, "I bet he's just worried that you'll actually have time now to tweak the gate's translation system so it works on Czech. He doesn't want to lose his ability to insult you to your face."

"There's got to be some kind of bug, it just doesn't make any sense!" Rodney said, as the transporter doors slid closed.

\---

Lieutenant Cyrus Cain was prompt, as always – you could take the lieutenant out of the military (by an above-the-knee amputation, in Cain's case), but you couldn't take the nightmares of angry drill sergeants out of the lieutenant. Cain had officially transferred to the science department as a civilian after his medical discharge, but most people had taken their cue from his team and still referred to him by his former rank.

"Well, Lieutenant, I'm sure by now you know what these meetings concern," Rodney said. _This_ one would be quick; Cain had loved this posting so much he finagled his way into the chemistry research department with nothing more than a BS in civil engineering and a love of making things go _boom_. Well, and his years of training and experience with demolitions in the field. And stellar recommendations by several members of the department whose assess he'd saved once or twice.

"Yessir. You're assessing the staff's commitment to the continuing mission, sir."

"Ah, yes, aptly put," Rodney said. He flipped to the right page in Cain's file. "I assume that you're committed?"

Cain hesitated. ". . . Yes, sir."

"Wait, what?" Rodney looked at Cain incredulously. " _You're_ not sure?"

"Not about my commitment, sir!" Cain replied. "Just, about the mission. What it is, now, and what opportunities there will be. For me. Sir."

"Well, the same opportunities that you've been, you know," Rodney gestured toward the lab, "whatever it is that you've been working on. You can do that."

Cain coughed into his fist. "Honestly, sir, I've spent most of my time with the science department out in the field. With my team, sir. Or, you know, cleaning beakers and watching experiments and stuff. I've picked up a bunch since I've been in the labs, but I don't know what use I'd really be, once the chem guys really start digging into the deep science stuff."

"Oh," Rodney said. This was awkward. He was used to insulting people's intelligence, not bolstering their confidence in their abilities. "It's, uh, good to hear you've been learning, and I'm sure you're underestimating your usefulness. Labs always need scut-monkeys. And!" he added, realizing that he was missing the obvious and much easier answer, "You'll still be going on missions with your team. There may be slightly fewer things that need blowing up now, though honestly, I doubt we'll see much of a difference. But there's no plan to break up teams."

"Really?" Cain asked. "Because, I gotta tell you, sir, if there are, I'd, well, it's like a bandaid: I'd rather rip it off real fast and just get out of here, rather than watch my team get dismantled slowly."

This was the team that had lobbied Rodney and the head chemist to find a place for Cain after his injury, and the team that had insisted that Cain be reinstated, even though it technically brought their numbers to three civilians and one military. This was also the team with one of the highest rates of successful missions.

"No, I fully understand," Rodney said, "but that isn't going to happen. I'll talk to Colonel Sheppard and make sure that your team is in regular rotation on whatever mission roster he draws up, but I'm sure he'll have no problem with that."

"And he'll be the one making that decision?" Cain asked.

"What? Yes, of course, he loves making the mission roster, I swear he's a heartbeat away from putting stickers on it half the time." Rodney shook his head. "And I don't know what kind of rumors you've been hearing, Lieutenant, but that job is Colonel Sheppard's until _he_ , and no one else, chooses otherwise. And that won't happen any time soon."

Cain sagged with relief, which meant his back went slightly less than ramrod straight. "That's good to hear, sir."

Rodney nodded. It felt good to say, and maybe if he said it enough, he could just make it the truth by sheer force of will. It wouldn't be the first time that happened. "So?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm staying, sir." He smirked. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

"Glad to hear it, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

\---

Two days and an obscene number of interviews later, Rodney was about to head off to team dinner night (every third night by appointment, plus any other time they were all in the mess at the same time) when Brant Cramer appeared in the doorway.

"Hi there, Dr. McKay! Just thought I'd pop in and see how things are going."

Rodney eyed him. "Right," he said. "Things are fine."

Cramer nodded, bobbing his head and smiling like it was the best thing he'd heard all day. "Great, great to hear, not a surprise, but still good news. Interviews are going well?"

"Yes," Rodney said. He was hungry, dammit, and he really didn't have the patience for Cramer right now.

"Wonderful!" Cramer clapped his hands together. "You know, Dr. McKay, I've noticed that you're just tearing through that staff list."

It was true – at this point, Rodney had heard most of the concerns people were likely to raise, and was able to dismiss them fairly quickly, though a few stubborn hold-outs seemed determined to leave. For the most part, though, his staff was planning on staying, and Rodney was adding the note "Will continue with Atlantis mission" to file after file.

"My people are happy to get back to work, Mr. Cramer, and I don't see the point in wasting anyone's time."

"Of course not, of course not!" Cramer said. "We just noticed that there's a higher 'stay' rate than we'd predicted, which is great, just great, always glad to see that people are happy with their jobs. But I wanted to make sure you remembered, you know, give you a little refresher on what exactly your assignment is."

"And that is?"

Cramer smiled. "Well, Dr. McKay, you're not really being asked to _convince_ people to stay. Just to take an inventory. We don't want you to waste your valuable time, of course. You understand."

"All I've been doing is asking people whether they want to stay, and answering any questions they might have." If, in the course of doing that, he also pointed out flaws in their reasoning, well, that was completely within his purview as CSO. "I trust that's acceptable."

"Oh, more than acceptable! We trust you to use your best judgment, Doctor." Cramer flashed another blinding smile.

"Well, that's . . . great," Rodney said. Cramer nodded. They stood awkwardly in Rodney's office for a moment, until Rodney pointed at the doorway Cramer was blocking. "If I may?"

"Right, sure thing, of course!" Cramer babbled, backing out of Rodney's way. "You have a great day now, Doctor!"

"It's 1900 hours, moron," Rodney muttered to himself on his way to the mess. When he got there, he saw Teyla and John already at a table out on the balcony, and met up with Ronon in line. "Do any of our plans for dealing with Cramer include punching him in the face? Maybe pushing him off a pier?" he asked, nodding at Corporal Eriksson for another scoop of mashed _siingtsa_ root.

"Plan seventeen," Ronon said, grabbing three glasses of Gatorade.

"Really, we're up that high?" Rodney asked as they went outside.

Ronon _hmph_ ed. "We should be."

"Should be what?" Teyla asked. She pulled Rodney's chair out for him while he set down his tray.

"Thinking up contingency plans that involve inflicting bodily harm on Cramer," Rodney replied, nodding hello to her and John. John kicked lightly at him under the table in reply.

"We need to reassess our strategy," Ronon said around a mouthful of dinner roll. "This cooperation thing sucks."

"You're just mad that no one falls for your illiteracy bit anymore, Mr. Satedan Warrior Poet, Second Class."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of administrative paperwork, buddy," John added. He flexed his hand and rolled his wrist; Rodney could see the ink stains on his fingertips.

"I'm serious. We should be planning for the future now, not re-writing reports while they plan it for us."

Teyla nodded. "It is strange that the IOA is not exhibiting more interest in charting the future of the city."

"Maybe they've actually realized that we're the best ones to do that." Rodney said.

"Or maybe they are planning it, and we just don't factor into it," John countered, stabbing a slice of meatloaf with his fork. "And when the hell did you become such an optimist?"

Rodney threw up his hands. "I don't know, sometime around the point when, oh, _everything worked out for us_? Hello, Wraith? Dead. Loved ones? Shockingly, alive, for the most part. Science? Beckoning! And I don't think any of us seriously believe that our lives will get boring all of a sudden." He looked around the table at them. "You can't tell me the rest of you haven't been positively giddy at the thought of what we can do now."

"Of course we have, Rodney," Teyla said. "Today, as I was developing the report on our alliance with the Bellarans, I had a thought as to how we might foster trade relations between them and the people of Hast."

With that, Teyla launched into an explanation of each group's natural resources, which turned into a discussion of the outline that future missions might take, which morphed into a conversation about prioritizing science projects. Through it all, John sat back with his arms folded, though he couldn't help but be drawn into Teyla and Ronon's mini-debate over how best to transition their training sessions for the Marines from intensive combat workouts to general fitness and preparedness courses, or resist agreeing with Rodney that, yeah, it'd be pretty cool if he got to spend some more time fiddling with that Ancient hovercraft they'd found a few months ago.

The sun was starting to set by the time things wound down. Ronon was off to spend the night with Amelia; after her close call during the second assault on the city following its return from Earth, he'd really stepped up his game. Rodney was sure that wedding bells or handfasting ropes or some other public ceremonial signifier was in their not-too-distant future.

And Teyla had planned a quiet evening with Kanaan. She'd told them in passing that they were contemplating having another child, once things had settled down a bit, so now every time she mentioned "spending time with Kanaan", she was met with knowing grins and exaggerated winks. It was their job to tease her, after all. Teyla took it good-naturedly, pulling her punches and saying sweetly to Rodney, "Torren has turned out so well, I am sure you will honor me by serving as midwife for my future children." (Rodney wasn't as horrified by the idea as he'd thought he'd be, and he figured that _two_ rounds of baby-catching had to guarantee him dibs on the next baby's middle name.)

John was quiet again, after Teyla and Ronon left. He sat there, tearing his napkin into progressively tiny pieces; he didn't look like he was planning to get up any time soon. Rodney just watched him for a while, taking in the extra gray at his temples, the new-ish scar along his chin from where he'd taken a boot to the face in the wrong way. (John had shrugged it off with a comment about looking more like Harrison Ford; Rodney reflected that he really didn't need help with that.)

He looked worn out, and Rodney wished he knew what to say, what to _do_ , to make it stop. "Hey," he tried, "What do you think about relocating the city. Or, re-relocating it." Actually, it would be the seventh or eighth time they'd changed planets; they'd made a lot of use out of the wormhole drive over the past year. "I mean, this place is decent," he said, motioning to the orangey sunset, "but I still kind of miss Lantea." And now it didn't really matter who knew where the city was.

John sighed. "Look, Rodney, I don't want to rain on everybody's plan-for-the-future parade, but –"

"No, listen, John," Rodney cut him off. "It's not that I'm not taking this seriously. I mean, yes, part of me refuses to even think about the possibility of them reassigning you, but you know what? We'll handle it."

"'Handle' it?"

Rodney shook his head. "I know the Pollyanna routine is getting grating, but Jesus, John, do you really think there's anything we can't do?" John looked dubious, but Rodney barreled ahead. "Fine, you want to play out the what-ifs? We'll play out the what-ifs. What's eating you, right now?"

John stared at him incredulously. "They're probably going to fire me."

"First off, they _might_ fire you, and I'd say probably not, but even if they do," he said, pointing at John to cut him off, "If they remove you as head of the military, I'll just hire you on as a scientist. Easy. You have a Masters, right?"

"Yeah. Aeronautical engineering." He sounded halfway to petulant, which meant Rodney was winning.

"Well, that's perfect, then," Rodney nodded. "Klosowski and Steuber could use a hand in their department."

"Grad school was a long time ago, Rodney. I haven't touched the theory stuff in years. There's no way I could keep up with them."

"Fine, fine, you can be Chief Puddlejumper Mechanic, if that's your dream job. The point is to keep you here."

"I like the job I have now," John said.

"So, what then – if you can't have it, you'd rather just give up, go back to Earth?" The thought shocked Rodney with how much it hurt. He'd been punched in the gut more times than he cared to remember, and while this lacked the initial sharp impact, the hollow ache was similar.

John snapped his head up. " _No_ , god no, Rodney, I –" he bit his lip. "I don't want to go back to Earth. There's nothing for me there. But I can't stay here and just be a, a burden on you guys."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, save the martyr business for – well, never, actually, since we've had a stunningly successful record to date of finding alternatives to you sacrificing yourself. I don't know in what universe you'd actually be a burden to anyone, but it isn't this one." Rodney looked out at the ocean. "No, as long as you're here, even if your official title is Ancient Roomba Maintenance Operator #2, people will still take their cues from you." He turned back to John. "You've got that charisma, you know. The natural leader thing."

"Charisma?" John smirked. "Why, Rodney, you flatter me."

"Oh, save it. You work it to your advantage all the time, and you know it." The pensive look started to creep back across John's face. "What, you're still not convinced? Okay, next scenario: they want you off Atlantis completely." He looked at John, who shrugged. "Piece of cake. Because who are all of our allies actually allied with? It isn't the IOA, that's for damn sure. So you go to ground with the Himmians for a while, or, if you're really feeling like punishing yourself for no good reason, we call up Larrin and see if she'll have you."

John glared at him. "Don't even joke about that, Rodney."

"Ah, see, you do have opinions under that cloud of doom and gloom there." Rodney tapped the table. "Or if you don't want to pull our allies into it, we'll drop you on an uninhabited world and you can play survivalist man for a little while. Take Ronon with you, make a happy fun times camping trip out of it. I can't imagine it'd take me and Teyla more than a few months to sort things out here."

"And if it takes longer, and I become some kind of fugitive? I can't ask Ronon to live on the run again. For one thing, Banks would kick both our asses."

Rodney scoffed. "Oh, like I wouldn't be deprived if you were gone. Besides, that's really incredibly unlikely."

"But if it happens?" John insisted. "If the IOA won't be bludgeoned into letting me back in? There goes any chance I have of seeing Earth again, for one thing. I wouldn't want to live there, but it's nice to visit. Dave's kids are kind of interesting."

Well, that would put a crimp in things. Rodney swirled the dregs in his mug, watching the _tura_ leaves waft into different shapes. "Hmmm. I'd have to figure out how to tell Madison. Jeannie will understand, probably, but how do you tell a kid you won't be visiting anymore?"

"D'you really think Maddie would care that much about not seeing me?" John asked.

"About not seeing either of us? Yes, she'll care." When John wrinkled his forehead at Rodney, "C'mon, John, you know they'd try to get to you through me. If we have to get you underground, I can't go back either. That's the price. And don't," he said peremptorily, "even think of insulting me by feigning surprise at that."

John shook his head. "No, I – thanks, buddy."

"Mmmm," Rodney responded. "Of course, there's always the back-up back-up plan."

"Which one's that again?"

"We take over Atlantis."

John considered. "Independent territory?"

"Fully integrated into the Pegasus galaxy, and free of any Earth oversight. Well," Rodney added, "except for us, you know, for the first generation."

They stared at each other for several long moments. Rodney broke first. "But I honestly don't think it will come to that, unless we want to push it." He smiled. "We're out of Worst-case-scenario-ville, you know?"

John snorted. "Yeah, tell me that again in four months when you're down off this 'we won!' high and something's malfunctioning with the desalination tanks."

Ah, good: a casual reference to the future, hangdog expression mostly gone – Rodney really was excellent at motivational talks. And just in time, too. The sun was almost set, and the light was fading fast.

"One more question," John said, as they gathered up their trays. "We've got an Ancient Roomba Maintenance Operator #1?"

"Yeah, Vargas adopted the fleet we found and works with them on her off time." Rodney lead the way back into the mess, speaking over his shoulder. "She says it's because they're so cute, but I worry about her building her own army, some days, I really do."

\---

At the knock on his door, Rodney looked up. "Ah, Parrish, come in, have a seat. How are the plants?"

Parrish looked surprised. "Do you care, Dr. McKay?"

"No, not really. I'm sure if there was a problem, I'd find out about it, _several months later_."

Parrish winced. No one had been surprised, exactly, to find out that the botanists were growing not-illicit-only-because-no-one-on-Earth-knew-about-them substances in the hydroponics labs, but Rodney _had_ been surprised that no one mentioned the carnivorous tendencies of Pegasus fungi until the third time a botanist had showed up in the infirmary with "mysterious bite marks" on her fingers. "No, sir, the, uh, the muzzles are working out fine."

"Glad to hear it. So: staying or going?"

Parrish fidgeted in his seat. "Well –"

"Oh, for crying out loud, what?" Rodney put his head in his hands. "I know you worked out your fear thing a long time ago, your team's rock solid and Lorne will make sure you get good assignments, you've never struck me as particularly career oriented, so what is it? Wanderlust? Ennui? Jonesing for Tim Hortons?"

"I'm gay," Parrish said.

Rodney looked up. "Oh? Um, okay. And . . .?"

"And the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy is still in place."

"You're not in the military. Or an American." Rodney frowned. "You do realize that it doesn't apply to you, right?"

"No," Parrish huffed, "but it applies to a lot of people on this base. People that I – someone I might – really just the one, but it's not fair for anyone and I just wish . . . " he trailed off. "It really sucks to fall for someone who can't come out."

"I imagine so, yes, but you're going to quit over it? And, what, leave the program entirely, so it doesn't happen again? That's ridiculous. Unless he's going with you?" Rodney asked.

Parrish shook his head. "He doesn't – no. No."

"Well then, I stand by my assessment: ridiculous." Parrish still looked glum, so Rodney said, "It's a moronic policy, of course, but it won't be in place forever. And I hope you realize that Colonel Sheppard has better things to do than worry about enforcing it."

"Oh, no, of course the Colonel wouldn't, I mean he's – well, I can't imagine he'd, uh." Parrish stopped. "As you can see, discretion isn't really one of my strong suits. But I know the Colonel isn't that kind of hypocrite. When Chen asked him out, he was very polite about turning him down."

"Chen? The new guy on loan from the CF?"

"Yeah, a week or two ago. Chen invited him to dinner in his quarters, but Colonel Sheppard said it wouldn't be appropriate, since Chen is in his chain of command and everything. He didn't flat-out reject the possibility, though, so we counted it as a win."

"Excuse me, 'we'?" Was that a reference to the Atlantis gossip mill, or was Chuck actually making book on this?

"Oh, ah," Parrish stammered, "just, some of us? Idle talk? Not with any military personnel!"

Rodney cut him off. "Look, whatever, I don't care. You're right about you having less discretion than a marching band, but there's no way this asinine policy will be a thorn in our sides for much longer, and in the interim, no one's going to enforce it, so there's nothing to worry about. I'm denying your request for a transfer."

Parrish blinked. "I didn't really think it was something you could grant or deny."

"What, you, too?" Rodney stood up. "We could sit here for twenty minutes while you whine about your love life and how it's leading you to make stupid life choices and I play Miss Lonelyhearts, but that actually sounds excruciating, so let's skip right to the conclusion: you man up and tell him how you feel, and then get back to work."

"I –" Parrish was staring at him, mouth hanging open a little.

"If it helps, you can sit here for the next twenty minutes and hash through it on your own. I have somewhere I need to be."

\---

Rodney found John in his office again, which had probably seen more use in the past few weeks than it had in the previous six years. It was a dingy little cell of a room, which probably wasn't helping John with his whole depression thing.

"Hey," John said when Rodney stormed in without knocking. "What's up?"

"What's _up_? What's up is that you didn't tell me some hot young Canadian thing tried to pick you up!" Rodney lifted a finger. "Excuse me, hot young _male_ Canadian thing!"

John froze for a moment. Then he looked back at the report he'd been filling out and started moving his pen again. "Yeah, I do try to keep that kind of thing quiet." He looked like he was trying to stare through his desk, and Rodney would bet anything that he was scrawling endless lines of loops across the page.

"How often does 'that kind thing' happen?" Rodney demanded. "Wait, no, it's you, I'm sure it happens more times than you even realize. That's not why I'm mad."

"No?"

"No! I'm mad because I had to find out about it during my personnel interviews." Rodney put his hands on his hips. "You know I hate not knowing things, especially in front of the botanists."

John exhaled loudly. "Dammit. Parrish is a gossipy sonofabitch."

"Also, overly dramatic when it comes to his personal life. Now stand up," Rodney said, motioning with his hands.

"What? No." John rolled his chair back to the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, for – I'm not going to _hit_ you, you moron, because one, when is that _ever_ my response to anything, and two – just stand up."

John unfolded himself from his chair slowly, which gave Rodney plenty of time to get around to the other side of the desk. As soon as John was upright, Rodney wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Oof," John said. He wasn't really returning the hug, but that was probably because Rodney had his arms pinned to his sides.

"Yes, yes, I need to work on my technique," Rodney told John's shoulder. "But this – such an obvious solution, I can't believe I didn't see it."

"What?" John asked. He sounded positively bewildered.

"For responding to your, you know, sad face thing." Rodney waved a hand behind John's back, but didn't let go. "I really had no idea how to talk you out of it, since you seem oddly resistant to reason, but this, this physical comfort thing, this is the ticket." He waited a few moments for John to agree, but John was silent. "This is working, right? You feel better?" He could swear John had relaxed, just a little bit.

"I – what?" John's voice cracked a bit, and that was kind of endearing, wasn't it. "Rodney, why . . ."

"Hmmm?" He could feel his hum vibrate through John's chest, but he couldn't get sidetracked by that now. "Why now? Or why, with the hug? Same answer for both, really: Once I realized you wouldn't take the touching stuff the wrong way, it became the most logical way to cheer you up. And it's working, I can tell, you're way less tense already. I'm a genius."

"Gen-- logic-- no, wait, you decided I wouldn't take it the wrong way after you found out another man hit on me?"

Rodney nodded, settling his chin more evenly on John's shoulder. He was okay with hanging out here until John caught up. It was pretty comfy; John had good taste in t-shirts.

"That doesn't make any –" John stopped. "Wait, you hug Ronon all the time."

"Well, first, it's not _all_ the time, and he tends to initiate, which I'm sure is a foreign concept to you. But more importantly, I don't love him the way I love you." He felt John take a sharp breath and pull away a little, so he lifted his head. "No, no, it's not that I don't care about him, and Teyla, of course, but – oh, _oh_. Right, worries about team unity are not what's making you go round-eyed right now."

John shook his head; his eyes remained very round. "You – how – when did you?" he finally settled on.

Rodney thought he got the gist of the question. "Um, sometime between six years and about fifteen minutes ago." When John scowled at him, he responded, "What? I know it's not very precise, but it's definitely accurate!"

John tipped his head back, looking heavenward, or, more likely, at his dingy ceiling. "You drive me absolutely crazy," he said. Then he slid his hand up Rodney's neck and pulled him into a kiss.

And, oh. Oh, wow. _Wow_ , that was John's face, just right up close to his, with his lips. Rodney had watched those lips for years, without realizing it, somehow – watched them talk and eat and smile and scream and manfully quiver even though it must have hurt like hell when they pulled that spike out of his abdomen that one time (or was it that other time?). So he knew they were full, and mobile, but he hadn't guessed how soft they would be, or, mmm, thank you, nerve-endings, what a _zing_ John's ever-present stubble would create as he slid his lips against Rodney's.

John pulled back, hand still resting on Rodney's neck. He looked a little wild-eyed; his lips were shiny and he was breathing heavily.

 _I did that_ , Rodney thought. "Yes, okay." He nodded to himself. "That is, yep, that is a _good_ plan."

"You sure about that?" John asked.

From the way John was running his thumb along Rodney's neck and up into his hairline, Rodney was pretty confident that John wanted his answer to be "yes". It would've been, anyway, but it was nice to have some independent verification. "Mmmm," he replied, leaning back in.

But John stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Even though you've never dated men before?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Maybe not recently, but you would not believe the amount of eyeliner I wore in college."

John shook his head. "Rodney, I don't care if you dressed in full-on drag – unless you also wanted to have sex with men, you know . . . ." He sighed, detaching himself completely and slumping back against the wall. "You can't just make yourself want this."

"Well, _that_ isn't going to be a problem." When John looked at him, he shrugged. "This is how it always goes: you get me to try something different, like going out into the field, or having friends, or, or video golf, and I say 'okay, yes' with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and things work out better than anyone expected. It's a good system."

John tilted his head. "Rodney, this is, it's different, you know?"

"Unless you're packing, like, tentacles in there," he said, gesturing to John's crotch, "I can't believe it's that different. And John – you have not _seen_ the kind of enthusiasm I'll be bringing to this project."

That got a chuckle out of John, so Rodney went for it. "Give me one good reason why this is a bad idea." John could give him ten, and he'd be ready. He was getting really good at shooting down crappy personal reasons for punking out on things.

But John was quiet, still leaning against the wall, and staring at his boots. "C'mon, I'm sure you can think of something," Rodney said after a few moments.

John looked up at him. "Probably, yeah. But I don't really want to."

Rodney took a step closer to him. "That's good, right?"

"Yeah," John said, pushing off the wall and into Rodney's space.

Rodney had just tilted his head up, (which, huh, that was different) when his radio chirped at him. "Sonofabitch!" he grumbled, clapping a hand to his ear. "Radek, this better be important."

"Oh, no, Rodney, is only a minor explosion in Lab Three, nothing that requires your attention."

"Explosion?" he repeated. He saw John's eyebrows go up, and he rolled his eyes. _Minor_ , he mouthed, followed by _morons_. John snorted, and then looked at Rodney's mouth and licked his lips. Rodney felt his heart speed up and, ha, this was going to be _fun_ , if it didn't drive him crazy first.

Radek was still chattering away in his ear. "Never mind, Radek, I'll be there in a minute." He tapped his radio off. "Sorry," he said to John, who just crooked a little grin at him.

And okay, yes, this was going to be fun, but also distracting, because he hadn't seen John smile nearly enough lately and right now all he wanted to do was experiment with different ways to – "Explosion!" he said, tearing his eyes away from John's mouth, and, oh, now the bastard was smirking at him, because he was doing it on purpose, he liked seeing Rodney get flustered, and, well, Rodney could definitely see the appeal of some mutual flustering – "Lab Three! Going there, now." He spun on his heel, hearing John chuckle to himself.

"Don't forget, Woolsey's coming back tonight!" John called down the corridor after him.

\---

Rodney had to cancel his afternoon interviews, because of the explosion (minor, but still), and his evening ones, because, okay, he had forgotten Woolsey's imminent return. But he'd apparently been falling for his best friend for some time now (years? It felt like years, now that he knew what he was looking for), so who knew what his brain was up to, half the time? As long as it kept coming to really excellent conclusions, he couldn't find it in himself to mind.

He'd had just enough time to scrub the soot off his face and get to the gateroom before the gate _whooshed_ open and Woolsey walked through. He pulled his little rolling suitcase clear of the splash zone and turned to face them all.

Ronon, Teyla, and John were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and as Rodney stepped up to join them, he could practically feel the air vibrate with their tension. John was back to looking pinched around the eyes, but he surreptitiously bumped his knuckles into Rodney's while Woolsey was glancing around the gateroom. Science staff had come out of the woodwork to cluster on the balconies, and it looked like there were triple the usual number of Marines on duty. Brant Cramer was standing a few feet away from the foot of the gateroom stairs, smiling brightly while standing in a strange half-parade rest pose that looked really uncomfortable.

"I see you've kept the city in one piece," Woolsey said, nodding at John.

"Sir," John said tightly.

"Hmm?" Woolsey asked, and finally seemed to register that everyone else in the room was on edge. "Oh, we're all set."

"All . . . set," Teyla said.

Woolsey nodded. "Yes, everything's taken care of."

"Everything?" John asked.

"Yes," Woolsey said. And then, "We're good."

"Care to elaborate on that?" Rodney asked.

"It's really quite simple: each person currently staffing Atlantis can choose at his or her own discretion whether to remain part of the mission, and we will be largely free to determine the future course of this expedition." Woolsey nodded his head toward Cramer. "The IOA has requested that we focus on diplomatic missions, with the goal of maintaining our current alliances and assisting those who need it with the transition into this post-war world, but that should align nicely with our previously discussed goals."

"And our jobs?" John asked.

"Perfectly secure," Woolsey responded. "As I said, it's all taken care of."

"See!" Rodney hissed, smacking John in the arm. "That is exactly what I've been saying! There's no good reason to remove you, a lot of bad ones, and it's not like they could enforce the order anyway, if we didn't cooper--"

Woolsey cleared his throat, loudly, and turned to Cramer. "And how have you found Atlantis, Brant?"

"Oh, it's been just great, Mr. Woolsey," Cramer gushed. "Thanks so much for the opportunity."

Everyone looked at Woolsey. "I met Brant back when we were on Earth. He was very, ah, eager to learn more about Atlantis, so when the review board needed a person on-site, I recommended him for the job."

Cramer nodded. "And it was my pleasure. Like I've been saying, we think you and your team have done a heck of a job here, Colonel." He nodded at Chuck, who punched in one of the fastest dialing sequences Rodney had ever seen him do. "I sure hope you all have a lot of success with your science projects!" And with that, he stepped into the wormhole.

"He was serious," Ronon muttered.

Teyla shook her head. "I was certain he was sinister."

"Just . . . aggressively friendly," John mused.

Rodney turned to Woolsey. "You really know how to play their game, don't you?"

"Please, Dr. McKay," Woolsey said, reaching up to adjust his glasses. "I wrote this game." He picked up his suitcase. "Now, we've got a lot of work to do, so let's meet for senior staff at 0800?" He nodded at them all, then looked back at the gate and smiled. "It's good to be back."

As Woolsey made his way up the stairs, the tension broke and soon the gateroom was filled with excited chatter. Rodney could catch snatches of it: "the first thing I'll have to do is calibrate the sensors, that'll take _weeks_ " and "I wonder if anyone's ever tried PSE on the database" and "it'll be nice to get a chance to actually _see_ these planets we keep going to, instead of just running all the time."

Rodney stood still for a minute, letting it wash over him. This was going to be good, he could tell. Then John leaned in and said, "C'mon, Rodney, we should go get some shut-eye. We want to be well-rested for tomorrow." When Rodney looked at him, John nodded his head toward the hallway and licked his lips. He looked lighter than he had in months, and was tugging discreetly on Rodney's shirt cuff.

Okay, yes, this was going to be very good indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for McShep Match 2009, for Team Peace, and the prompt "tilting at windmills". Original post: https://mcshep-match.livejournal.com/66103.html .


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